


̿̿ ̿̿ ̿̿ ̿'̿'\̵͇̿\з= ( ▀ ͜͞ʖ▀) =ε/̵͇̿/’̿’̿ ̿ ̿̿ ̿̿ ̿̿

by bethwithlit



Category: Diners Drive-ins and Dives, モブサイコ100 | Mob Psycho 100
Genre: God why, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 14:40:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11991840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bethwithlit/pseuds/bethwithlit
Summary: im sorry for this





	̿̿ ̿̿ ̿̿ ̿'̿'\̵͇̿\з= ( ▀ ͜͞ʖ▀) =ε/̵͇̿/’̿’̿ ̿ ̿̿ ̿̿ ̿̿

**Author's Note:**

> look man you take one look at guy fieri and tell me that he ISNT a psychic

Guy Fieri is a simple man. He likes his flavor in life, his ‘spice’ if you will (why else would he move to a city named  _ Seasoning?), _ but things have been… bland lately. Clients come and go, his student is monotone as ever. It’s all the same and honestly it’s like his life is one big bland bowl of oatmeal.

And then Serizawa shows up in his life.

Or perhaps, Guy shows up in his.

 

Guy had been recording an episode for his esteemed show, Diners Drive-ins and Dives, visiting a local restaurant that was probably a little haunted, when there was a noticeable psychic disturbance. Mob had looked at him with wide eyes, and he’d shut down the camera guys pretty fast, telling them to take a lunchbreak. It was just past the lunch rush, so the restaurant is empty, except for a few patrons and the kitchen staff.

“Alright, little dude,” Guy says to the kid, flipping down his sunglasses. “Let’s fry this chicken thigh.”

Mob follows his lead with a nod, flipping down his own shades. “Okay Shishou.”

The two of them stroll into the back under the guise of checking the place out before recording, and the psychic aura definitely gets stronger the further back they go. The manager and staff are too busy to even question their presence, though they are given a few looks.

It’s when they get to a secluded corner of the kitchen, right beside the ovens, that they find the source of the disturbance.

“Slamma jamma…”

He’s a very tall, somewhat built but soft-looking dude, with handsome curly hair pulled back in a hairnet. His cooking station: clean. His apron: Neat and tidy. His aura: anything but. Anxiety is clearly written all over his face as his hands hover over what appears to be the ingredients for a meat rub.

“Yo my man, I am love- _ ing _ all this spice up in here!” He says as a way of introducing himself. The man nearly jumps through the roof, eyes wide upon recognizing him. Guy approaches carefully, noting how Mob is keeping the floating objects from trying to go any further. “Let a brother know what’s all in this baby, huh?”

The man blinks owlishly for a moment, eyes darting from Mob to Guy to the meat rub.

“I-- Uh--” He gulps. After a moment he lists off the ingredients in combination of flavors. “Er… but… I think I… messed up. I don’t think this recipe calls f-for, uh, three cups of. Garlic.”

“Yowza. Thats a lot of garlic my dude. But you know what? That just makes it even better, because now, you get to improvise! Here, let me show ya how it’s done… Flavortown style.” He points at Mob. “Pay attention, lil dude, because I haven’t shown this to anyone yet.”

Mob nods, watching with a straight face as always.

Without hesitation Guy takes up some spices from some nearby shelves, not even reading the labels (who reads labels nowadays anyways? A real artist goes by their nose.) and measuring things in just the right ways. His audience of two is enraptured by the way his hands move and he can’t help but notice with some self-satisfaction that he has the full attention of the stressed out psychic, his aura calming down. Soon enough, the meat rub is saved and on the particular rack of ribs.

“Wow, Shishou, that was amazing,” Mob says. “I don’t even know where those ribs came from.”

Guy Fieri flips his shades back up with a winning smile. “It’s all in a day’s work kid. Not a problem.” He turns to the chef. “Say, my spicey brother, what’s your name anyway? I’m sure you know who I am.”

“A-ah! M-my name is Serizawa, sir. It’s nice to meet you.” He bows politely, but Guy insists on shaking hands with him.

“Serizawa! Seasoning’s finest up-and-coming chef. Nice to know another of the garlic-inclined variety. You new here?”

He pales. “Er-- yes? How did you know?”

“Just a psychic chef’s intuition. That and I know everything about every restaurant in this side of Seasoning.” He wipes off some sweat. Is it him or is it hot in here? Doesn’t help being so close to the ovens. “Say, Seriracha, how about I give you my card? I don’t just help with taking people to Flavortown, you know. If you ever need some psychic spice in your life, hit me up dude.” He hands him the card, that also has his phone number and a bunch of other stuff on it.

Serizawa stares at it for a moment and then smiles real big down at him.

“Thank, so much. I’ll call you.”

Guy Fieri’s heart rolls itself in better and jumps into a frying pan. Metaphorically. He hopes his blush isn’t apparent.

“Yeah man, keep it cool! See ya around.”

 

The day ends with Guy walking Mob back to the Spirits and Spice and Such Office, the sun setting and shading everything a specific shade of mustard.

“Shishou, why did you help that... dude, with the meat rub?”

Aw heck. This could get awkward.

“Well, you see lil dude. Sometimes you come across folks who got a little too much spice in their jam, ya know? They just need a lil help, a lil improv with that kinda stuff, and if you can help ‘em make their way to a little town called Flavor, you should. Ya feel me?”

Mob blinks. “I… I think so…”

“Good, because that dude back there just needed a lil help with his recipe back there. Literally and figuratively.”

“Okay.”

This fic is over now. I can’t do this anymore, I’ve looked too long into that which should not be looked into. I fear madness with overtake me the longer this goes on.

Serifieri 2k17 tho

**Author's Note:**

> help me rip


End file.
